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About Hastings

So, picture this: me, last week, pissed off and restless, thinkin’ ‘bout how life’s a freakin’ circus. Decided to dig into the underworld—find a prostitute, see what’s what. Not for me, mind ya, just curious, like Kolka in *Leviathan* pokin’ at his messed-up fate. Streets were cold, damp—smelled like vodka and regret. Reminded me of that line, “God sees everything,” but down here? God’s on a smoke break.

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Back at the shop, I’m finally gettin’ into the groove. I’m hammerin’ away, makin’ these boots look sharp. Then, outta nowhere, this lady bursts in. She’s frantic, like she just saw a ghost. “My dog ate my shoes!” she yells. I’m like, “Lady, you gotta be kidding me!” But she’s dead serious. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who lets their dog munch on shoes?

One of NZ's oldest RSAs changes its name, confirms split from national body